There are things,
delicate things, that contribute to my life.
I saw a man on the phone, talking to someone.
That’s two lives interacting,
dedicated to each other, in that moment.
And me watching them—
that’s three lives sharing one moment.
The Uma Hardy Poetry Prize
I had never won a prize before
An award once,
Most improved Biddy Basketball Player,
But a prize, never, especially not
A cash prize.
Today I can call myself a poet
Uma Hardy called me a poet
Gave me one-thousand dollars to say,
“Through my hospital window
I can see a garden—(it’s actually there)—
This is no figurative garden mind you.
I can also see the windows of other patients.
The man next door to me screamed,
He has no idea where he is,
Thank god I can’t catch what he’s got.”
When my girlfriend was crazy once,
She was hospitalized.
I went to visit and she was not in the room.
But her roommate was there awaiting
Electro-shock therapy,
She sang, “Swing low sweet chariot.”
It freaked me out.
I remembered that this morning
When the man in the hospital room
Next to mine
Screamed, “who are you people?”
He has no idea where he is
Thank-God I can’t catch that.
An award once,
Most improved Biddy Basketball Player,
But a prize, never, especially not
A cash prize.
Today I can call myself a poet
Uma Hardy called me a poet
Gave me one-thousand dollars to say,
“Through my hospital window
I can see a garden—(it’s actually there)—
This is no figurative garden mind you.
I can also see the windows of other patients.
The man next door to me screamed,
He has no idea where he is,
Thank god I can’t catch what he’s got.”
When my girlfriend was crazy once,
She was hospitalized.
I went to visit and she was not in the room.
But her roommate was there awaiting
Electro-shock therapy,
She sang, “Swing low sweet chariot.”
It freaked me out.
I remembered that this morning
When the man in the hospital room
Next to mine
Screamed, “who are you people?”
He has no idea where he is
Thank-God I can’t catch that.
The Lion's Den
It’s quite a sight to see
The lion feast upon his prey.
The blood and gnarling doesn’t bother me
With the backdrop of a summer’s day.
He’ll tear the flesh right from the bone
And savior tastes of his viscous kill.
Smiling gaily with canines shown,
The king of beasts has had his fill.
When all is quite and set with peace,
It’s nice to join the lion’s feast.
Blood and gnarling doesn’t bother me,
In fact, it’s quite a sight to see
The lion feast upon his prey
With the backdrop of a summer’s day.
He tears the flesh right from the bone
Smiling gaily with canines shown
And savoring his vicious kill
This king of beasts will have his fill
When all is quiet and set with peace
It’s nice to join the lion’s feast
The lion feast upon his prey.
The blood and gnarling doesn’t bother me
With the backdrop of a summer’s day.
He’ll tear the flesh right from the bone
And savior tastes of his viscous kill.
Smiling gaily with canines shown,
The king of beasts has had his fill.
When all is quite and set with peace,
It’s nice to join the lion’s feast.
Blood and gnarling doesn’t bother me,
In fact, it’s quite a sight to see
The lion feast upon his prey
With the backdrop of a summer’s day.
He tears the flesh right from the bone
Smiling gaily with canines shown
And savoring his vicious kill
This king of beasts will have his fill
When all is quiet and set with peace
It’s nice to join the lion’s feast
The Evolution of Truthsayers
Nothing but a smile shows the twinkle of a tooth
Somehow through laughter one can see the truth
Where all cynics, optimists and philanthropists combine
Only in tears and smiles do my beliefs shine
As a tear trickles down my face
It is caught by the turn of my mouth which gives chase
Resulting in a smile pure from its joy
Turning to a feeling to liven the heart of a toy
So it’s true that I cry before I smile
Add the idiosyncrasy to the overwhelming pile
Allow my tear to touch your shoulder
And you too shall be joy’s holder
My eyes give forth the words of truth
Which are in turn spoken when tears touch smiles
While unable to bottle my hearts waters
At least I can write them and share their offers.
Somehow through laughter one can see the truth
Where all cynics, optimists and philanthropists combine
Only in tears and smiles do my beliefs shine
As a tear trickles down my face
It is caught by the turn of my mouth which gives chase
Resulting in a smile pure from its joy
Turning to a feeling to liven the heart of a toy
So it’s true that I cry before I smile
Add the idiosyncrasy to the overwhelming pile
Allow my tear to touch your shoulder
And you too shall be joy’s holder
My eyes give forth the words of truth
Which are in turn spoken when tears touch smiles
While unable to bottle my hearts waters
At least I can write them and share their offers.
Tandem Rides
It was summer again and the sun shone,
We’d mount the tandem and ride.
We always took the same route,
By my teacher’s house, across from the horses.
I don’t think I ever pedaled,
I just rode and she worked.
The hills were the best part,
“Look mom no hands!”
My legs were too short to reach,
The pedals which rapidly spun beneath.
Oh what a wonderful ride,
On tandems, sunny days, and memories.
We’d mount the tandem and ride.
We always took the same route,
By my teacher’s house, across from the horses.
I don’t think I ever pedaled,
I just rode and she worked.
The hills were the best part,
“Look mom no hands!”
My legs were too short to reach,
The pedals which rapidly spun beneath.
Oh what a wonderful ride,
On tandems, sunny days, and memories.
Stabilize
I don’t mean to be
rude when I say it is my
opinion, through ob-
servation, that left-handed
people have less co-
ordination. And the self
made ambidextrous
have never sat well with me.
I will describe the
painting as blue and without
the symmetry of
a human body. Certain
consolations were
given to the left point of
perspective helping
to balance the dominance
attained by the right
hand focal point. The artist
is a friend of my
mother— plants wildflowers.
rude when I say it is my
opinion, through ob-
servation, that left-handed
people have less co-
ordination. And the self
made ambidextrous
have never sat well with me.
I will describe the
painting as blue and without
the symmetry of
a human body. Certain
consolations were
given to the left point of
perspective helping
to balance the dominance
attained by the right
hand focal point. The artist
is a friend of my
mother— plants wildflowers.
Upon Departing
When I walked out of your room it was kissing you that I began to miss.
I went home to fall asleep without you and I missed holding you in my arms.
And when I woke up with your voice in my head, I missed hearing that sound.
But it wasn’t until I started to miss staring into your beautiful eyes,
That I knew it was you I was missing,
And that’s when my heart began to beat a bit faster.
I went home to fall asleep without you and I missed holding you in my arms.
And when I woke up with your voice in my head, I missed hearing that sound.
But it wasn’t until I started to miss staring into your beautiful eyes,
That I knew it was you I was missing,
And that’s when my heart began to beat a bit faster.
Sorry we haven't kissed yet.
I can look at you
and see that you are looking
like you want to be kissed
and still I am too nervous
to lean in
and get close and
make a quick dash at your cheek
so that afterwards
we can start
to make out.
and see that you are looking
like you want to be kissed
and still I am too nervous
to lean in
and get close and
make a quick dash at your cheek
so that afterwards
we can start
to make out.
sometimes I thought it was a shower missing
tonight the shower only helped wake me up
It didn’t help me think harder.
But woken up now I remember
wanting to be in my room for days, writing
locked door et al. figuring things out for other people
and tonight I wanted to start that locked door
because I heard myself shunning people
people I probably love, just pushing them away
and I keep pushing off that feeling of sleep.
the what I fear to be indefinite sleep,
the one that keeps me awake.
there then, thought overriding emotion, or at least overriding a feeling.
perhaps just one instance in my life
because if it occurred elsewhere I’d have to change my philosophy.
tonight the shower only helped wake me up
It didn’t help me think harder.
But woken up now I remember
wanting to be in my room for days, writing
locked door et al. figuring things out for other people
and tonight I wanted to start that locked door
because I heard myself shunning people
people I probably love, just pushing them away
and I keep pushing off that feeling of sleep.
the what I fear to be indefinite sleep,
the one that keeps me awake.
there then, thought overriding emotion, or at least overriding a feeling.
perhaps just one instance in my life
because if it occurred elsewhere I’d have to change my philosophy.
Soft Velvet Bag
He walks slowly down busy streets
Passed on either side by people who don’t know him.
He smiles sometimes, less now than before,
And he turns his palms to the sky.
The world has been getting heavy.
He looks for a place to put it down and rest,
But nothing is soft enough—he distrusts.
He looks up for help, no answer.
The tears don’t hurt his cheeks,
The weight doesn’t hunch his shoulders, he gives.
It's necessary because everyone needs to take,
Everyone needs to smile a bit broader.
Of course he can’t smile anymore.
If you were the only one who was happy, you too
Would give it all away, spread it to every eye
That gave tears, and then sit quietly.
We don't owe him thanks, just smiles,
He carries the world in this soft velvet bag
He and his family made, so that things
Wouldn’t be as harsh as they once were.
Passed on either side by people who don’t know him.
He smiles sometimes, less now than before,
And he turns his palms to the sky.
The world has been getting heavy.
He looks for a place to put it down and rest,
But nothing is soft enough—he distrusts.
He looks up for help, no answer.
The tears don’t hurt his cheeks,
The weight doesn’t hunch his shoulders, he gives.
It's necessary because everyone needs to take,
Everyone needs to smile a bit broader.
Of course he can’t smile anymore.
If you were the only one who was happy, you too
Would give it all away, spread it to every eye
That gave tears, and then sit quietly.
We don't owe him thanks, just smiles,
He carries the world in this soft velvet bag
He and his family made, so that things
Wouldn’t be as harsh as they once were.
The One With The Progression
So you asked me to write you a poem
or poems rather.
And although I fear it will be subject to
All the inadequacies of my previous verses
I sit hoping that maybe the sentiment—
just this one time
Is enough to carry you where you belong.
I can foresee countless hours and trials
ahead of me
Plagued by failures and miscommunications
And occasionally—I think—that maybe there is
A future with just one clear thought—feeling
that might be enough.
Of course, I doubt my ability to repay you.
But, I sense, you don't ask me for equalization
Just a thought, or sentiment that will
take you one more step.
And so it is with me, still here, subject to
your travels,
Holding your hand because I'm not strong enough
to walk the lead,
Giving you everything so that you may fight
one battle for two
And wishing, perhaps, that I could have been the one
Well enough equipped to draw the sword.
But, please, call on me when you can’t
fight for us alone.
or poems rather.
And although I fear it will be subject to
All the inadequacies of my previous verses
I sit hoping that maybe the sentiment—
just this one time
Is enough to carry you where you belong.
I can foresee countless hours and trials
ahead of me
Plagued by failures and miscommunications
And occasionally—I think—that maybe there is
A future with just one clear thought—feeling
that might be enough.
Of course, I doubt my ability to repay you.
But, I sense, you don't ask me for equalization
Just a thought, or sentiment that will
take you one more step.
And so it is with me, still here, subject to
your travels,
Holding your hand because I'm not strong enough
to walk the lead,
Giving you everything so that you may fight
one battle for two
And wishing, perhaps, that I could have been the one
Well enough equipped to draw the sword.
But, please, call on me when you can’t
fight for us alone.
Sharing Something
Certain beams from the sun get through my blinds
and make reflections on my television screen.
There is nothing I can do to stop this.
This same sun casts light right now on my friend Megan
as she falls out of her car that turns over more than once.
Megan’s arm is breaking, she falls and lands on her head.
Her baby is inside her, “in the safest place possible,” she says.
Her head is bleeding, it needs ten staples and stitches.
She is not sad. The sun goes down as she closes her eyes
on the side of the road. We are not close together.
It is easier for me to see my television with the glare gone.
I am not in any danger, at night now, talking to Megan on the phone,
I know I am in a safest place.
and make reflections on my television screen.
There is nothing I can do to stop this.
This same sun casts light right now on my friend Megan
as she falls out of her car that turns over more than once.
Megan’s arm is breaking, she falls and lands on her head.
Her baby is inside her, “in the safest place possible,” she says.
Her head is bleeding, it needs ten staples and stitches.
She is not sad. The sun goes down as she closes her eyes
on the side of the road. We are not close together.
It is easier for me to see my television with the glare gone.
I am not in any danger, at night now, talking to Megan on the phone,
I know I am in a safest place.
Revision
I.
She lay in bed planning their
imaginary picnic.
It would be too hot for
cold chicken.
Maybe they’d just have
fruit salad and
tomato juice.
They would have a
brief discussion
about reincarnation and
possibly some talk of
healthcare.
It would be one o’clock
and sunny.
There would be pollen,
there would be sneezing
there would be “Gesundheit,”
and there would be
kissing,
and it would have something to do
with springtime.
II.
She stepped into the shower and
considered dinner.
It would be the
the French restaurant,
they would both be
slightly underdressed.
He would be bold and
order Chateaubriand
and Baked Alaska
for two.
Between the drinks
and food
there would be feet touching,
blushing
something said of tomorrow
and a question about dancing,
and it would have something to do
with a relationship.
III.
She opened her underwear drawer—
Romance!
They would come back
to her place
and listen to
Lyle Lovett.
It would be dark
and romantic
there would be lips,
hands, breasts, a penis.
They would have sex
and there would be an aggression to it
which would have something to do
with love.
IV.
And afterwards she got back into bed
and recalled
the day that occurred that morning.
She lay in bed planning their
imaginary picnic.
It would be too hot for
cold chicken.
Maybe they’d just have
fruit salad and
tomato juice.
They would have a
brief discussion
about reincarnation and
possibly some talk of
healthcare.
It would be one o’clock
and sunny.
There would be pollen,
there would be sneezing
there would be “Gesundheit,”
and there would be
kissing,
and it would have something to do
with springtime.
II.
She stepped into the shower and
considered dinner.
It would be the
the French restaurant,
they would both be
slightly underdressed.
He would be bold and
order Chateaubriand
and Baked Alaska
for two.
Between the drinks
and food
there would be feet touching,
blushing
something said of tomorrow
and a question about dancing,
and it would have something to do
with a relationship.
III.
She opened her underwear drawer—
Romance!
They would come back
to her place
and listen to
Lyle Lovett.
It would be dark
and romantic
there would be lips,
hands, breasts, a penis.
They would have sex
and there would be an aggression to it
which would have something to do
with love.
IV.
And afterwards she got back into bed
and recalled
the day that occurred that morning.
Rear Differential Serviced
The wheel and the axle fell off my car again, for the third time.
There are sealed bearings and there are tapered bearings,
one of the two makes your wheel fall off, and your axle.
This time my mechanic Louise is going to use the ones
that keep the wheels on. He is also fixing any additional
damage that was caused by this latest mistake.
He is doing this because he is liable, and because
he feels bad because when the wheel came off
I could have been killed, or killed somebody.
I told him not to worry, that I already know how I am going to die.
I know how u-joints work, what can cause low oil pressure,
and what steering fluid smells like—its pink and smells chalky.
I am going to drive my car to Las Vegas to make sure it works right.
There are sealed bearings and there are tapered bearings,
one of the two makes your wheel fall off, and your axle.
This time my mechanic Louise is going to use the ones
that keep the wheels on. He is also fixing any additional
damage that was caused by this latest mistake.
He is doing this because he is liable, and because
he feels bad because when the wheel came off
I could have been killed, or killed somebody.
I told him not to worry, that I already know how I am going to die.
I know how u-joints work, what can cause low oil pressure,
and what steering fluid smells like—its pink and smells chalky.
I am going to drive my car to Las Vegas to make sure it works right.
Porkbellies
Jason lives in Indiana in one of those houses that’s miles from its nearest neighbor. His dad explained to me that the market price for pork is less than the cost of raising a pig. So there were only two on the farm— for the family, for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I stayed overnight at his house, I also spent one night at Adrian’s. Adrian is Chinese and his grandmother died two days before I got to his house. I thought I shouldn’t stay there but I did. His mother’s family came over for dinner, most of them don’t speak English. They smiled at me because we couldn’t talk to each other and because I didn’t like the fried fish that I was trying to eat. He calls his hometown a suburb. It seemed the only available entertainment there was sitting on the corner with the traffic light or bowling, so I’d call his town rural, I bowled a 121 which is a decent score for me. There is a girl that Adrian is in love with. He worries about his feelings for her often. He also worries about her feelings for him. He has just bought her plane tickets so she will come visit him. She is going to stay for a week and Adrian is hoping that during the time she is with him it will be clear whether they will be together forever. It is not going to be clear.
Poems et al.
everything I write with any foresight now is a poem
so I don’t feel so weird calling myself a poet anymore.
I feel no need to qualify my sarcasm with you, except I just have,
And I fear that you might forget my face
When I say,
"It was good to hear from you
Yesterday, glad you called,
was nice to talk."
I thought maybe you shouldn't read the rest
Til you finish your song
But then again, you are you,
So go ahead.
My poem beat your song.
But here, beyond the bold, which is the title,
Is the poem which can go without context,
Which I fear may have some meaning to
Someone besides you or me.
Before You Sing Your Song For Me.
On streets filled with more self-pity than this
I ask for my friends to say,
"You make me learn more of myself,
Through you, your friends, I hear me, understand me."
From their kitchens, my interruptions removed,
I respond to my closest friend, saying,
"I know, I brought you together without myself,
My lives combine without myself."
Part of my isolation was more than self-imposed
As I walk along said streets, arms spread alone,
"Follow me," I say, but no one is behind
They are though, there. "They are though, there," I say.
On streets filled with more self-pity than this one
I lay resolve to unite without myself
To be followed there without them behind
To give warm entrance to these cold longings.
so I don’t feel so weird calling myself a poet anymore.
I feel no need to qualify my sarcasm with you, except I just have,
And I fear that you might forget my face
When I say,
"It was good to hear from you
Yesterday, glad you called,
was nice to talk."
I thought maybe you shouldn't read the rest
Til you finish your song
But then again, you are you,
So go ahead.
My poem beat your song.
But here, beyond the bold, which is the title,
Is the poem which can go without context,
Which I fear may have some meaning to
Someone besides you or me.
Before You Sing Your Song For Me.
On streets filled with more self-pity than this
I ask for my friends to say,
"You make me learn more of myself,
Through you, your friends, I hear me, understand me."
From their kitchens, my interruptions removed,
I respond to my closest friend, saying,
"I know, I brought you together without myself,
My lives combine without myself."
Part of my isolation was more than self-imposed
As I walk along said streets, arms spread alone,
"Follow me," I say, but no one is behind
They are though, there. "They are though, there," I say.
On streets filled with more self-pity than this one
I lay resolve to unite without myself
To be followed there without them behind
To give warm entrance to these cold longings.
Please Marry Me
When you did call me back it was a voice
I hadn’t known, and words I couldn’t hear.
And from what I saw it seemed love was gone
As if it was never there to begin.
For me, I know, such a love doesn’t fade,
And my eyes, when I look upon you don’t
See any differently than they had
Before. You hung up first this time, not me;
That’s how I gathered what it was you said,
Because you didn’t care enough to hurt me
For yourself, instead you asked it of me.
But now, I tell you, I love myself no
More than you do. And that I still believe
In love. And I won’t let you leave me here.
So I’ve come to ask you this again.
I hadn’t known, and words I couldn’t hear.
And from what I saw it seemed love was gone
As if it was never there to begin.
For me, I know, such a love doesn’t fade,
And my eyes, when I look upon you don’t
See any differently than they had
Before. You hung up first this time, not me;
That’s how I gathered what it was you said,
Because you didn’t care enough to hurt me
For yourself, instead you asked it of me.
But now, I tell you, I love myself no
More than you do. And that I still believe
In love. And I won’t let you leave me here.
So I’ve come to ask you this again.
Oil On Canvas and Wood
In those deep eyes he sees
The world looking back,
It calls him, asks of him
Assistance in moving on.
His face is not so small
That aging can be seen,
But cracked lips echo
Wearing and the sad.
Shoulders wide but still
Too sloped to bare
Such weight he’s borne
Pain, stiff neck and clench.
Eyes still there again.
Holding water, even still.
No one watching now.
Holding water, even, still.
The world looking back,
It calls him, asks of him
Assistance in moving on.
His face is not so small
That aging can be seen,
But cracked lips echo
Wearing and the sad.
Shoulders wide but still
Too sloped to bare
Such weight he’s borne
Pain, stiff neck and clench.
Eyes still there again.
Holding water, even still.
No one watching now.
Holding water, even, still.
Not Poem
Poems contain pictures
This poem has none.
They have feelings
This has but one.
No colors this time
No frills, no fancies.
Just an occasional rhyme
This poem has all things,
And no things still.
It’s simple in its fact of matter,
And complex in its afterthought,
As for depression, I’ve read sadder.
It’s not one extreme, either or
It’s this and that and those,
One poem with much less than more.
One thought.
Knowing only what it’s not.
This poem has none.
They have feelings
This has but one.
No colors this time
No frills, no fancies.
Just an occasional rhyme
This poem has all things,
And no things still.
It’s simple in its fact of matter,
And complex in its afterthought,
As for depression, I’ve read sadder.
It’s not one extreme, either or
It’s this and that and those,
One poem with much less than more.
One thought.
Knowing only what it’s not.
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